Equal Love
by Heath Wingwhit
Summary: Morrigan and Elissa Cousland revel in pushing one another's buttons. fCousland x Morrigan
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Blessed be whoever made that mod! Seriously. Now that I can romance the glorious Morrigan, I shall waste more of my time writing stories instead of doing things I ought to be doing. I have no idea when this will update. It's meant to be just a series of vignettes between the snotty Cousland and the glorious Morrigan. This is my first time writing Morrigan so I hope I do her some justice. Plot, what is plot. Thanks to the Allusive Man for his help, as always.

* * *

Elissa Cousland had been but a child, traveling by carriage when her family took her far south to meet old family friends. They stayed at the homes of various nobles along the way and attended luxurious parties that bored her to tears.

On one of those trips long ago, they stopped at a city, near to the forest. Fergus and her father left to do something manly (this was back in the time when she was young enough to not have her way all the time) and her mother engaged in conversation just outside the carriage with some old friend. There was a possibility of an arranged marriage for Fergus being had.

Everything bored her. Elissa had been closing her eyes when little hands reached into the carriage, into the seat across from her and plucked up her mother's beautiful hand mirror. Elissa's eyes darted open and she stood swiftly, catching only a glance of the girl and the childish glee on her face. "Hey!" Elissa shouted. She would not have these lower born thugs stealing from her mother!

But the girl was gone.

Years later she thinks of her still. What would a girl like that want with a mirror? Whom would she have to dress up for? What she remembers most vividly, besides her moon skin and raven hair, the rags and the mud at her feet—were her eyes, bright, daring and honeyed.

* * *

The throbbing in her head is unbearable. She has been having nightmares of black, claws, teeth, roaring. Bad wine, mayhaps? No. The other business. They lit the signal at the Tower of Ishal. Yes, they did that. There were darkspawn. Where's Duncan? Where's Alistair? Did they win? Did they end the Blight?

"Hold still."

Elissa fights to open her eyes. Everything is heavy. The light hurts her eyes. She hears an irritated sigh. It's the woman from the Wilds, sitting at the edge of the bed. What was her name? Morrigan? Elissa tries to speak, tries to ask for Alistair, of the battle. Where are her clothes? It's freezing. She's under the covers but she can't get warm.

"I said hold still," Morrigan presses a hand to her forehead, thumb grazing gently along it. "T'will be faster for the both of us if you just let me do this. The most important thing for you to do now is rest."

"Where's my mother?" Her lips are chapped and too dry. She sees her father, wet with blood but nothing makes sense.

"That I know not. You'll have to make do with me." She pins Elissa's arm down gently. Elissa falls into black dreams again.

* * *

The lay sister Leliana smiles through the splatter of blood on her chantry robes, on her face. The red tinges her straight teeth (perfect, aside from the one small chip on the corner of her front tooth) making her look like a maniac. Her green eyes have a glow to them. One look at her and Elissa knows that this is no ordinary lay sister. Aside from slitting throats this way and that, she holds herself in a certain way. Elissa smells coin. She suspects her for a liar. But she accepts her offer of aid. A party of three will not stop Loghain and the darkspawn.

"I will see that Flemeth dies for this," Morrigan tells Elissa bitterly later. They've acquired rooms for the night, 'the chantry puppets' sharing one room and she and Morrigan sharing another. "When she merely _gave_ me to you, as if I were an old sock, I did not expect that I would be stuck with an arrogant noble, a Templar _and now_ a lay sister! What have I done to deserve this?"

"You're a Witch of the Wilds. I'm sure you've done _something_." Elissa quips. Her stomach turns from hunger. She positions a small plate before her on a rickety table, watching Morrigan pace throughout the poor room with furniture that she doubts will last much longer. She was meant to inherit a castle, not a darkspawn taint and a griping witch. "What a hovel this place is."

"This? A hovel? 'Tis rather luxurious compared to the spaces I dwelled throughout my upbringing." She reluctantly sets the staff she carries aside as if afraid that she'll fry Elissa with it and thus doom them all. She goes to the table, snatching the roll from Elissa's plate and a slice of cheese. She's bitten into it before Elissa can stop her. Morrigan sees her crestfallen face and yet does not appear to care. "There's plenty more on that plate. Do you think I will subsist merely on your 'fine' company?"

"I was saving that. I'm _hungry_. There's not enough food in this blighted little village to satiate my hunger." Damn the Joining! She lowers her head, letting it rest on the table before quickly lifting and wrapping an arm protectively around her plate, lest Morrigan take the rest. "It's polite to ask."

"'Tis polite to share. If you're so hungry, why not eat that lay sister you've picked up as if she were some stray mongrel? Twould save me listening to her preachy lectures while we journey." She sighs thinking of her. "Not that you'll find much meat on her bones. Gangly is what she is."

The image stirs Elissa's mind. Wipe all that blood away and what do you have? Someone quite pretty. What's she like under those robes of hers? What's a lay sister like, unleashed after years of forced chasteness? Perhaps it was wise to bring her along after all. "Do you think a lay sister would let me eat her?" Elissa asks Morrigan earnestly. "Isn't that against their vows or something? Maybe I should have shared a room with her. She's friendlier than you are." Morrigan's eyes narrow on her. "Unless you prefer that you and I…?" she looks at her plate and hurriedly begins to eat the food, like a starved dog that is afraid that another will take it if it doesn't inhale it. "We are sharing a room… Let me finish this first. My preference for actual food has eating you at a distant second."

Morrigan's slap is sudden and painful. Elissa smiles regardless, impressed at how little it hurts. The Joining is a blessing indeed! "Remember your Joining fondly, Warden. "'Tis the last one you shall have."

Elissa curses the bloody Joining.

* * *

The arrow flies swiftly, pinning and ending its prey.

Elissa and Morrigan walk over the frosty grass to the rabbit, now still and relatively bloodless. The others are at camp, Morrigan having offered to fetch a meal, no doubt to find some time alone and Elissa eager to do the same (but aware of the importance of safety in numbers).

Morrigan's eyebrow cocks slightly, her words containing a smile that her face does not. "I am most surprised at you, Warden. I did not think a noblewoman would be as skilled of a hunter as I, a Witch of the Wilds. Perhaps I am more limited in my understanding of Fereldan society than I thought." Morrigan picks the rabbit up by its legs, the arrow sticking out of it. "'Tis a pity that it shall be ruined by Alistair's cooking."

"Why Morrigan, are you offering to cook?"

Morrigan chuckles. "No."

Pity. They could make armor out of what Alistair manages to reduce all their meals to. "Just think, with one witchy potion you might have the opportunity to rid yourself of your vexing wardens and bard." Elissa pulls the arrow from the rabbit, feeling some degree of pity for it that she does not manage to find for the bandits and men of Loghain she has to kill regularly. She flicks the blood away and tucks the arrow back into the quiver, looking around the quickly darkening forest. "That _was_ a joke. There's nothing worth living for at the moment but give me time. After the despair releases me from its persistent clutches I may find a tavern or pretty wench worth living for. Perhaps even Leliana. She is quite pretty, you know, despite the way you constantly speak of her boyish figure. I like boys."

"I care not for your taunts, Warden. 'Tis cruel to dangle sweet ideas before my eyes only to swiftly dash them. You're tolerable. Barely. But the Sister and the Templar. Honestly, how do you tolerate them?"

"Much the same way that Leliana and he tolerate you. And thank you for the compliment. I find you barely tolerable as well." Elissa says. Morrigan rolls her eyes. She stretches a hand out for the rabbit but Morrigan turns and walks with it, the rabbit's ears nearly touching the scattered colorful leaves upon the ground. "I thank you for 'tolerating' them enough to not reduce them to frogs. If you must do so, please wait until _after_ the Blight is over. I've found the proper way to savor frog legs is with a good heaping of butter. But there's no butter in any of these parts."

"Is food all you think of?" Morrigan snaps. Elissa bites her tongue. That and sex. The Joining has made her crave both to an alarming degree. And to think, she was almost a proper woman before. "I 'tolerate' them by keeping my distance. As evidenced by the distance of my tent from theirs. But still Leliana insists on visiting, as do you," she accuses, "can I not have a moment of privacy?"

"Had I allowed you your privacy would we have a meal? Or my pretty face?" Elissa asks. Morrigan is silent. "I do believe it would kill you to give thanks."

"I would have had this rabbit, arrow or no." Morrigan ignores the remark about her pretty face, much to Elissa's chagrin. "I suggest you keep your bow aimed at the darkspawn. 'Tis what you wardens are here for, no?"

Always so eager to argue. Elissa suspects she's bitter at having found someone whose half as obnoxious as her family often claimed she is. "But would you have had a fine noble to ransom should we run into Loghain's men?"

"What use have I for coin?" She shakes her head. "The Idiot tells me your family was only second in line to King Cailan in terms of power and influence." She stops, considering, perhaps looking at something and then glancing back at Elissa, lips slightly parted. "In any case, 'twould be foolhardy to give you to Loghain's men. Mother insisted on sending me on this expedition and 'twould be most unbearable were I to travel solely with Leliana and Alistair. Sten would not stay in your absence, he'd forge out on his own."

"The two of you leave our lovely, chatty party? What a surprise!"

"Flemeth instructed me to stay close to the Wardens," she says with some irritation, "and so close I will stay." Elissa regards her. Morrigan's hair is the color of shadows, her skin the glow of a bright moon, her eyes the brightness of the stars. In all her years, despite the many noble parties she attended with women or men often acclaimed for their beauty, Elissa has never known anyone so beautiful. Not even herself. Irritating. Morrigan walks; Elissa stays beside her. "You look at me so one would think you'd have me closer still."

"Mother's eager to marry me off and have me breed. But I doubt she has a Witch of the Wilds in mind." Elissa lets the words trail away slowly, the reminder of her mother's passing like a violent knife twist in her stomach. Much has happened quickly. The betrayal of the King, a Blight, a Witch of the Wilds, an old archdemon… how sad and pathetic that the passing of her family could become a little thing in the face of the threat Ferelden now faces, in the face of all those who have been lost. "She wants children." Elissa never wanted those things and often and promptly shut down the topic of conversation when her mother brought it up. Perhaps she should have been kinder to her. She thinks of Arl Howe and her jaw clenches.

"Your mother wanted children and it seems to me she had them," Morrigan stops and Elissa is unsure of whether Morrigan seeks to mock or reassure her. Does Morrigan know how to reassure anyone? She steps close, still holding the weight of the dead rabbit in her hand. "Warden… you have mud on your face." Elissa reaches up tentatively, searching, trying to chase the melancholy thoughts away. "From Fereldan you may be but how often does nobility dirty their hands and play in the mud?"

"My family—mother, Father, Fergus and I—we would have fox hunts. The snotty Orlesian Duke Prosper would hold hunts as well. It was fun, mud and all. I'd get up to my ankles in it."

"Ah, yes, but you did you ever fall in? I've had to roll in it, hidden for hours as a child against those who would pursue me. Those were _my_ games when I was young, when _I _was the hunted. What else did you hunt? You're no fool Templar but you are, no doubt, a hunter. I have never understood the fascination of hunting game for sport. I see no reason for pride at killing an animal that stands no chance against a hunting party. Tell me, Warden, have you ever hunted a witch?"

Elissa's hand stops searching her face. So what if she's got a dab of mud on her. She reaches for Morrigan but she's already moving again. "No, but I've begun to reconsider."

"I'm no fox at some orchestrated party. You couldn't begin to know how to trap someone such as me."

* * *

When the twig snaps behind her, Elissa turns, arrow cocked, pulled taut. A wolf. Elissa's heart hammers. The wolf is but a shadow, almost undetectable save for the breath it takes and exhales, swirling in the night. Is it another blight wolf? This one is different from the others. It doesn't growl and leap and snap. It watches. Elissa lowers the longbow. The wolf paws at the ground and comes closer.

Elissa considers reaching for the dagger at her side but decides against it. She stoops and reaches a hand out, wondering if she'll still have it in a moment. The wolf sniffs at it curiously before turning and walking away. Elissa breathes easier.

Not for long. The wolf returns, sprinting quickly across the mud, slamming into her chest, knocking her breathless to the ground. The mud is cold and sticky, sinking into her. The wolf is heavier than it ought to be, pinning her down. Elissa feels its paws painfully on her shoulders. It growls, teeth glistening, menacing her throat. Hot breath spills over her and Elissa feels its fangs scratching along her neck. How is she expected to end a Blight when she can't fend off a wolf?

Elissa shoves it off. Its gold eyes settle over her. It sits, watching Elissa struggle to her feet in the slippery muck. Once she has, the wolf barks, slinking back into the shadows. Elissa tries to follow it with her eyes but she can't, she tries to give chase but slips and falls.

Blast. So much for chasing after Morrigan.

* * *

She has stripped to her small clothes when she hears the branch of the tree groan. A raven is perched on the branch, flapping its wings before settling and fixing its eyes on her. Elissa smirks before wading into the lake, surprisingly warm despite the chill of the air. Perhaps wardens maintain higher body temperatures as well. The raven continues to observe her. Elissa waits for it to descend, turning her attention to the stars above and their reflection dancing on the water. Morrigan is watching her and she aims to take advantage.

"I've still a few more things to remove… if you're interested." Elissa says to the raven, daring it to come down. It squawks and swoops down, lighting on Morrigan's arm for an instant before gliding over to Elissa, squawking once more for good measure and in ridicule, Elissa suspects, before taking off into the night. Morrigan on land, arms crossed, looks smugger than she typically does. Elissa clears her throat, her face heating. Well, blast. "The offer still stands."

"Taken to talking to birds now, have you?" She laughs. "Really, I'm amazed you still function. Day after day I continue to find maladies of the mind with you." She steps ankle deep into the water, vigilant.

"And day after day I discover you're more of a bitch than I suspected." She pushes the hair back from her face. Morrigan's smile twitches. "If you wanted to mud wrestle you could have asked." Morrigan scoffs, as if knowing that Elissa actually finds the idea horrifying. "Are you staying all the way over there?"

"I lack your resistance to icy temperatures and lest I catch my death I shall remain _here_. If you want me to get wet, Warden, I'm afraid you'll have to come closer."

Elissa smiles. Leave it to Morrigan to say such a thing when Elissa can't quickly reach her. Elissa dives beneath the water, swimming to shore for some moments before surfacing. She's waist deep and still Morrigan hasn't moved. "Don't tell me you'll run away again. I don't have four legs to give chase. But if I did…" She smiles once more. "Won't you teach me to turn into a wolf?"

"You don't have the talent. Also… you would use it for nefarious means. I won't have you tormenting the animals."

"Why not? You torment us all." She reaches land and stands before Morrigan. Her neck stings from the teeth of the wolf earlier. "Your teeth broke my skin." It shouldn't arouse her. The woman is a beast. Dressed all in leather and belts, a barely there cloth accentuating all her fine features. Does it take just a pull of the string to render her topless? She can't deny having fantasized about the woman, uncultured in many ways but not so bloody boring as the noblewomen she has known.

"If you stare any harder, you'll burn me with your gaze."

"Melt the ice queen? Someone ought to get me a title for my good deed." Elissa takes Morrigan's face in her hands. Their mouths meet carnally. Elissa shivers at the fire that races through her. She thought Morrigan would be colder.

* * *

"You have your mother's laugh," Elissa tells her. She feels Morrigan's gaze, like daggers, digging into the back of her skull. She won't turn around and smile. If she had it her way, she would be as confounding and elusive as Morrigan continues to be.

"What was that I heard?" Morrigan questions. They are marching to the Brecilian Forest. Elissa rarely left Highever when she lived there. Fereldan or not, the town was not so muddy as the rest of Ferelden appears to be. She grows tired of the muck. "I believe, 'twas the sound of a cheeky Warden who will have to bear the cold nights on her lonesome, with only dreams of darkspawn and archdemons for company."

"Oh, that's great," Alistair says. "A lover's spat. It's early and we've a longs way to go." A bluebird flies around his head cheerfully; Alistair waves it away. "I'd like to hold on to my breakfast for another few hours if I could, unless you expect me to fight darkspawn with projectile vomiting."

"It'd be a far better tactic than the cowering and whimpering you cling so tightly to," Morrigan retorts. "You can't beat the darkspawn with the memory of your dead warden."

Elissa winces at the words. She can't say they surprise her but she thought Morrigan had become more learned of civilized society. One must always say harsh, negative truths behind a person's back, not to their face. Elissa decides that Morrigan would make a terrible noble.

"You really are a bitch," Alistair says heatedly.

Morrigan continues unfazed. "Do me a favor and retreat to that fortress, dull and hard as iron, that you call your head and stay out of conversations that don't involve you."

"Oh, yes! Because it was my idea to be between the two of you when you're talking about... you know… your—business! I am stuck with you, you know," Alistair resituates the bag on his back, cold sweat running down his face. "But…since you did ask. Let me get right on that. Maker knows I'm here to do you favors, not battle darkspawn or help unite the land or—"

"You two are so darling when you bicker," Elissa says glibly, glancing back at the two of them, their expressions dark as death. "I can scarcely stand it, so please. Do shut up."

"Right, no bickering, no jokes. Anything to avoid that laugh," Alistair looks at Morrigan who shoots him a look deadlier than any spell, "whenever I hear it, I think I'm back at the old hut. Flemeth's nose, her laugh, I wonder what else of hers you have." He laughs, looking to Elissa for approval. She smiles and laughs with him. Morrigan's eyes narrow viciously on her. "Of course, I don't hear it often at all unless it's about something nasty. You need a soul to laugh. I bet it kills you a little each time you do it. I've barely seen a smile break your face," he tells Morrigan.

"I'd be more satisfied with breaking yours," she says. "Enough of this, Templar. Shut your mouth this instant. I have limited patience and it is wearing thin." Leliana begins to sing. "The Void take my mother for this!"


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: slowly building to a plot! another random update with more random scenes. thanks for reading, everyone!

* * *

Morrigan hears them, even from her tent, laughing wildly. It astounds her still that the Warden ('_will you bloody call me Elissa, already?'_) can tolerate that lay sister as she does. Oh, they go into fits of giggles in their talks over fashion and noble society. The talks do not interest Morrigan in the slightest nor could she participate in them if she wanted to, the world of Fereldan and Orlesian fine society entirely unknown to her. It is something that she may have cared for as a child, but no longer.

The bard fancies herself a storyteller. In some ways, talk bores Morrigan to no end, but if the sister wanted to enter in a competition of stories, Morrigan is sure that she is the one who would emerge victorious, nor would her stories be so fabricated as those of the grating bard.

Sten is in the distance. A proud creature, one she respects, especially for his absent compulsion to constantly chatter. The old bat Wynne has retired for the evening. Morrigan cares not for her preachiness, nor will she be lectured by an aging schoolmarm, who gave up her freedom all for the castrating tales of the Chantry.

She glances in their direction. The night is chilly, all the better to stifle the stench of that mongrel of the Warden's as well as Alistair. Will Elissa visit her tonight, she wonders? The two have not spent the night together yet, Morrigan unsure that she wants to give Elissa the courtesy. Instead, they have contented themselves with stealing away now and then, pressing each other to the rough bark of a tree and kissing so heatedly that their lips bruise and hurt for hours afterward. It has been some time since Morrigan had company that was not some man, lost and having stumbled into the Wilds. The experiences were but practice, at Flemeth's urging, and never truly satiated her. Nor were they half so obnoxious as Elissa. The Warden is a vexing creature, indeed.

Morrigan busies herself with some of the scrolls she has found on their journey. Some are ridiculous chantry lore while others are reportedly potent spells that are in truth very ordinary. Once more the Circle and their puppet mages bore her. If they must throw away their freedoms, the least they should have is powerful magic at their disposal. The magic is enough to leave the common person at quite a disadvantage but it is not of the likes of the power that she and Flemeth wield.

She binds the scrolls again, in time to see Elissa approach. The woman has a bit of a swagger to her step, most unlike a great deal of women, but never-the-less, appealing. She kneels before Morrigan and Morrigan sees the claw marks that the werewolves left on her skin when they went to the Brecilian Forest. The wounds are healing at an alarming despite not having received healing from the old crone. "Those look disgusting," Morrigan tells her.

"I had a feeling you might say that. You know, Leliana is far more amiable," she pouts and Morrigan is torn between slapping her for her idiocy and kissing her. Better the first but the second is just as enjoyable. "Did you miss me?"

"Miss you?" She laughs. "Response enough? Pray tell, what was the bard droning on about this time? The Orlesian ruffles in their dresses or birds defecating on noble women's hair?" Elissa forgets that she's pouting, her lips pulling into a smile. Yes, Morrigan heard that horrific story all the way on her end of the camp. "And you 'civilized' folk think that Flemeth and I are the savages."

"I don't mind that you're a savage. It's part of your charm," Elissa says. Morrigan ignores the twinkle in her eye, thinking that though it's only been moments she has already grown tired of the Warden. Elissa's fingers come to her neck. "I'll pretend these are a love bite from you."

"I'm no overgrown dog."

"But you are a witch," Elissa leans over, hands planted on her knees and kisses her. Morrigan is annoyed by the fire of her mouth despite the coldness of their lips. How daring she is, kissing without asking. Morrigan savors the kiss but ends it, biting into Elissa's lower lip. Elissa laughs, tongues the injury and looks at her. "Was that meant to intimidate or encourage?"

"'Twas a reminder of manners, Warden."

"Why won't you use my name?"

Does it truly bother her? No matter. There's no purpose in growing close to her. "I don't want to give you the satisfaction."

"No? Shall I seek it elsewhere?"

There's a beat in which they look at one another, Morrigan quite vexed by the situation and Elissa annoyingly unreadable. "We may both do what we like. I shan't keep you collared, Warden, just as you shall never leash me."

"You spoilsport. I happen to favor leashing." A pause. She leans close as if to join their lips again. Morrigan's eyes half-close but Elissa pulls away. Morrigan hates the astonishing disappointment. "I suppose we should turn in. You'd best stoke that fire," she glances at the small campfire Morrigan set up earlier, fingertips sliding downward along her arm before it slips away. "You're cold."

Morrigan smirks. "Cold I may be but I did devise a remedy far better than any campfire. But if the Warden is a sensitive whelp then perhaps I _should_ devote my attentions to the fire and see to it that _it_ keeps me warm tonight..." She smiles to see Elissa pout again, this time sincere. Morrigan doubts Elissa knows she's doing it, nor how she has averted her eyes. Morrigan touches her face. "You and I have played long enough, haven't we?"

"I _like_ play."

"I prefer _action_ to games." Morrigan presses to her, lips at her ears. "No fire, nor minstrel's tale can burn like I do."

"What makes you think I _want_ to be burned? Sensitive whelps take issue with fire."

Flemeth told her how she found the Wardens in a burning tower in the black of night. Mock them as she may, the wardens survived. "Are you not a warden? Tempered by fire and darkness?" Morrigan threads her fingers through Elissa's hair. "So too am I."

Morrigan grazes her lips along the torn flesh at Elissa's neck, a fistful of her hair in her hands, granting access. Elissa's breath hitches. Their fingers twine briefly before Morrigan pulls hers away, before Elissa kisses her in the savage way nobles do.

* * *

Morrigan is convinced the loss of Elissa's family has driven her to madness. Sure, the Warden doesn't speak of the loss often, but why else would she allow an assassin into the party? Elissa is capable enough to hold her own but Alistair, the vexing creature, is liable enough to give the man a blade to do the slitting of his throat for him. Annoying as he is, Morrigan needs him. Blight and damnation, why couldn't Elissa have been the male warden? She must soon end this game between the two of them before any feelings are injured.

Elissa glances at her, as if hearing her name. She smiles and Morrigan is further irritated. No, she is only being dramatic. The two of them are well aware of what this is and there is no reason to not enjoy themselves on the cold nights. Elissa makes for suitable company and without her, Morrigan fears she would have no one to engage in conversation with. If Leliana tells her once more how to better display her bosom, she may have to strangle the woman. Better that than prove her Chantry righteousness correct by killing her with magic.

"You're thinking about something," Elissa says.

"Is it not preferred that one think at all times? Better that than some tranquil mage. Or Alistair." Morrigan sees Alistair off in the distance along with Wynne. The two have settled easily into a mother and son role that is most disturbing given their particular roles in Circle life. However, she will not bother dictate what they should do so long as they leave her out of it.

"You're avoiding the question."

"No question was asked." Morrigan says. Sten trails behind them. She cares not what of their conversation he hears and she would much rather have him on their tail than Leliana or Zevran. Why did Elissa choose to keep him near? "I do question your sense, Warden. Accepting an assassin hired by Loghain to do away with you… what exactly are you thinking?"

"Isn't this the point where you tell me that the darkspawn hit me harder in the head than you thought?" She smiles. "Or maybe you took all of my senses entirely." Morrigan cocks an eyebrow. "You are…somewhat ferocious."

"Oh, did I hurt the poor Grey Warden? You battle ogres and darkspawn; I did not think I could injure you so grievously with my lovemaking." In fact, it is Elissa who has bruised her somewhat in her zeal to make love. It is never intentional and Morrigan wagers that the woman simply has not gotten used to her newfound strength yet. In any case it does not bother Morrigan any. "Perhaps we should part ways?"

"I wasn't complaining."

"I would be most surprised if you did for not a peep of complaint have I heard in the many hours that we spend together."

"Let's put this whole darkspawn business to rest and spend the rest of our short lives in tents making love. We'll leave the Blight to Alistair and Leliana. They shall surely end it with the Maker shining down upon them."

"Surely you jest," Morrigan says with some disgust. Elissa, she worries, is at times too light hearted regarding the Blight, either too much time with Alistair is the cause or an avoidance of any heavy topic that could send her spiraling into some deep depression. The mention of any Arl is enough to put her in a foul mood for hours on end. Ahead, Zevran looks back, his hair too gold, his smile too knowing. He is handsome. Morrigan has seen how he looks at Elissa and wonders if the Warden plans to indulge him. Better him than Leliana, she supposes. "And back to the matter at hand—what is it that you plan to do with Zevran?"

"He's another sword for the time being. If he tries anything, we kill him."

"And what if he kills you before you have the chance?"

"You'll keep me safe. You have eyes on the back of your skull. As does Wynne, I'm sure. She was a teacher wasn't she? Isn't that what they do? How else do they always know what you're doing?"

"Please don't tell me you've just compared me to that old mop!" Morrigan scowls, deepening when she sees how Elissa smiles. "You're insufferable. Need I remind you that Mother passed me along to you and Alistair to help you stop the Blight. 'Tis no use to her _or_ me if either one of you is finished off by some lithe, oiled elf."

"You've noticed too, hm?" Elissa peers at him. "I bet he's slippery."

Morrigan contemplates on her tone. "Oh, ho. I'm no longer slippery enough for you?" Morrigan laughs. She believes that is a blush on the Warden's face.

* * *

"What do you think of Morrigan?"

Alistair pauses in bringing the wooden spoon to his mouth, his mouth agape, eyes narrowing and arching in one. "Why, what have you heard? Because if it was completely awful than I assure you, it's true."

Elissa slaps his thigh, covered in heavy steel and not affecting him in the slightest. He looks at her hand and back at her face in a way that makes her feel most curious and wonder if she should have been so careless with her touch. "Stop it. You were eager to gossip before. I don't know if you know this about nobles but what we love more than feasting and parties is to gossip, so out with it."

Alistair chews slowly and Elissa is sure that he must be mulling over what he ought to say. He's never cared to guard his words before. He takes another few bites of the poor stew before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, for starters, I don't trust her. She's a Witch of the Wilds! An apostate, at that…"

"Your Templar is showing." She smirks and he glances down at his crotch before looking back to her. His face reddens at her poor choice of words. She thinks that Zevran would like the expression. Alistair scowls and looks back at her. "But it is," she says softly. "Anything more?"

"Why so curious?"

"I don't know what to make of her. Besides that she's smart."

"Smart? That's not the word I'd pick for her. It rhymes with witch. Really, take a guess."

Elissa smiles wryly. Alistair may be sweet and handsome, clever in his own way but somewhat oblivious. "I've never met anyone half as smart as she is." Morrigan always has some radical interpretation of what others would deem black and white. She is wise beyond her years, cold and daring but something more. There is something about her gold eyes that beckons something in Elissa that is out of reach. "I feel as if I've known her longer than I actually have."

"Maybe she's maleficarum. Wouldn't be surprising really."

"Do you really think that?" She snaps. "She's a powerful witch and she's helped us." Morrigan isn't a maleficarum. And if she were, what would she be using her power for? To have Elissa fight the darkspawn? To have insipid conversations with Alistair and Leliana? "I don't know why I asked you."

"Clearly to ruin my appetite," he groans to his feet but Elissa remains sitting. He's in a sour mood again and maybe she's to blame. Mostly she wishes that Leliana and Alistair would stop snipping at Morrigan (and her at them). She enjoys them all and is tired of the stress that comes with their disagreements. "Leliana says you've been… swamp diving? I don't know what that means," he coughs, "but be careful, all right? It's only the two of us right now. I may not be as smart as she is but I get the feeling that she's playing at some sort of game."

Elissa purses her lips. "So long as she helps us to fight the darkspawn, she can play whatever games she likes."

"That's what you said about the assassin. Maker, Elissa, do you really know what you're doing?" He shakes his head, the glow of the fire making the shadows on his face more dramatic. "We're the last two wardens left in Ferelden and Duncan left us to do all this. We need to be able to trust those on our side and I don't know that we can. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to watch out for you."

"Chivalry lives. Thank you but I can watch out for myself." Elissa takes the hand he extends to her anyway, letting him pull her to her feet. He looks at her too soberly to the point where it's embarrassing and it makes her self-conscious. "Don't worry. I won't let her turn us into toads. Not on my watch."

* * *

"Tell me, Warden, when you lived in… where was it? Highever? Did you have such wandering eyes?"

Elissa looks from Zevran and Alistair to Morrigan. Ferelden is surprisingly hot and humid today. Zevran and Alistair have bundled their packs on their back and gone shirtless. Elissa has not detected any darkspawn and if Alistair has removed any part of his armor then she can only assume that he senses no darkspawn either.

"Whatever do you mean?" Elissa asks, watching the sweat run down their backs. Alistair is not a fort like Sten but he is certainly masculine and broad shouldered. Zevran is thinner, smaller. Elissa has never been with elven men (or women for that matter) but his muscles are long and lean, his frame compact and tight. So she stares. Morrigan narrows her eyes on her. "I'm not hurting anything by looking."

"No, not at all, Warden. My dear Morrigan," Zevran glances back, "you are free to stare as well, yes? Better to keep an eye on me so that I do not slit your precious' throat. Not that I could bring myself to injure such a beautiful woman. Well, not without the right pay, anyway and I've already been bested in combat. Believe me, I am not fool enough to risk it again," he laughs.

"See?" Elissa says. "He's a perfectly reformed assassin."

Zevran chuckles. "This is my first opportunity at redemption. You'll find a heart, yes, Morrigan? It does not matter if it is not your own, so long as you let me live in peace and continue to happily fight at your side. In either case, you cannot say to me that you do not admire my physique."

"'Tis a fine form, Elf. I do not argue that."

"Then why not enjoy the scenery?" Zevran returns.

"Yes," Elissa says, "why not enjoy the scenery?"

"You will not tell me what I shall and shan't enjoy," Morrigan's lip twists upon looking at her before glowering ahead at Alistair. Sometimes she looks at him in such a dangerous manner that Elissa believes he will be reduced to a toad or ashes or some other equally useless form. "But be mindful to not overly strain your eyes so."

"Strain away," Alistair shouts back. "I don't mind. Besides that, we're Wardens. We survived the Joining. A bit of eye strain won't kill you."

"A joining, you say?" Zevran smacks the back of his hand to Alistair's stomach. "I did not know that you and Elissa had laid together. I admit some surprise. However, you are both beautiful specimens."

Alistair fumbles his way through a response, stammering and blushing, irritated in one. He looks back at Elissa who smirks. His crush on her is rather obvious. Her mother would have loved Alistair. Handsome and caring. His jokes would have worn on her eventually. As would his lack of nobility. The same obstacle that Ser Gilmore ran into. Her mother never cared much for his position and it was that alone that made Elissa spurn his advances. She was always watched like a hawk and as such never had her time with him. She has a soft spot for redheads. Did he make it out alive, she wonders.

"Ah, you look to be deep in thought," Leliana falls in step beside her. Elissa notices Morrigan's step slow, too swiftly falling behind. "That is the look of someone lost deep in memories. I had never noticed it before, the way that your eyes can get so sad."

"It's fine," Elissa says. She hasn't spoken to anyone in any great detail of what happened at Highever and she'd prefer to keep it that way. What if she turns into a sobbing, hysterical mess? What would the others think? That she wasn't up to task? What would Morrigan think? That she was ridiculous? Morrigan can be severe. It's exciting but intimidating. "Don't be so serious, all right?"

"Mh. I understand if you do not wish to speak of sad things past." She smiles, eyes glinting. "Shall we speak of shoes, then?"

Elissa grins, relieved. "Don't you get tired of speaking of shoes?" Leliana's smile falters, somewhat embarrassed. "Let's also speak of dresses."

"Oh great," Alistair says. "Another riveting conversation of fashion."

"I'd rather do away with clothing altogether," Zevran looks back and winks.

Morrigan sighs heavily.

* * *

"You have spent an awful amount of time with that old woman," Morrigan tells her. They've camped for the night and Elissa has surprisingly kept her distance. Morrigan is not sure whether she likes it or not. She has followed her into the forest to a slow stream that is deeper than one initially suspects. Elissa kneels at the side, an arm bracer to her side. "Do not tell me your tastes have matured so much."

"Jealous of Wynne?" Elissa asks. "She is a beauty, isn't she? And far nicer than you are."

"That old prune?" Morrigan scoffs, sure that Elissa only seeks to bother her with her stupid sentiments. "If a weathered, dry half-corpse is what you desire, then you may use her as you see fit. Or toss her into the fire for warmth, she'll do as well as any log." She saunters closer. "'Tis a chilly night for a dip in the stream. Do not tell me you continue to fret over that werewolf's scratch." She stoops beside her. "You have not transformed into a foul beast yet. Or no more so than usual," she says with a rueful smile.

"It doesn't happen immediately. I feel chilly."

"'Tis a cold night, Warden." She touches her face, cool to the touch indeed but from the stream water, not sweat or chills. Her forearm looks to have fang marks. "It appears I was mistaken," she strokes the swollen skin, hot to the touch. "Soon you shall be a savage beast, full of bloodlust. A detriment to me but a boon to battle against darkspawn."

Elissa growls, ripping her arm away. "It isn't funny."

"I disagree."

"Fix it."

"No."

Morrigan has never seen the Warden look angry, even when she ought to. This is the closest she has come, eyes burning, jaw and fist clenched. And there, beneath that, fear. Morrigan doesn't like it. The last thing they need is another useless Warden. "You aided Witherfang and ended the curse. Bite or no, your mind will be your own." Her thumb strokes the injured flesh. "So do stop pouting. And do not retreat like some injured animal. If you were to fall on your own then the Blight will take us all."

Elissa sits with a sigh. Whatever it is that troubles her, she has not been forthcoming about it. Morrigan won't press her. She will not have two useless Wardens, crying over memories past. Still… she does feel some concern for the woman. After some moments she sits beside her, drawing her legs to her chest and waiting.

"What was it like growing up in the Wilds?"

"Why do you ask? Have you grown tired of That Girl's stories? Do you seek something darker and more thrilling?" Morrigan believes it to be the first time that Elissa has asked. Zevran, Alistair and Leliana have nearly exhausted her patience with their constant questioning but Elissa has rarely asked.

"I want to get to know you." Elissa touches her injured arm absently.

"Why?" Morrigan notes something in her features, an absence of movement followed by a retreat that can only be seen in her eyes. "I imagine you wanted to know only of my body, much like the men who lost themselves in the Wilds, never to return." A beat. "To answer your question, growing up in the Wilds seemed as normal to me as any other upbringing. I had little to compare it to. Mother made everything a game, even the frightening things. It was not until I was older that I learned what fear was. I heard stories of abominations and wild animals but truly it was the wild Chasind men, the Templars and Chantry that scared me. Flemeth taught me well that no matter my age, if they knew of my talents and my sex they would not discriminate. But I did not focus on such things and I would not trade it for a more conventional upbringing. Flemeth gave me knowledge that empowered me. As I have said before, when I became lonely I had the birds and the other animals of the forest for company."

"I can't imagine a life like that."

"Were you to try I hardly think you would succeed. One must live it to know it." She hears the wings of some bird in the distance. If they are gone overlong one of them will come to seek them out. It is a compelling reason to encourage themselves into action and moving along but Morrigan isn't ready. "What of you, Warden? What were you like, as a little girl?"

Elissa smiles faintly. "I was spoiled. My parents shielded me from everything. I did not know the darkness that existed in the world. The very worst I could imagine was Fergus getting to stay up longer than I could." Her words stop suddenly, as if silenced by some spell.

"He may live."

"You won't let me look."

"I do not keep you chained and bound. You may look, if you wish, but it would be foolish. Do not paint me a villain for reminding you of your duty," Morrigan snaps. Elissa bows her head. Morrigan feels a pang of guilt. "I do want you to find him." She stands, wiping the grass away from her skirt of belts. "Come, let us return to camp. If you were to invite me to your tent, I cannot say I would decline."

Elissa stands, picking up the bracer, fiddling with it before extending a closed fist to her. Morrigan is unsure of why she does so until her fingers loosen and a silver chain spills free. "I found this. I don't even remember where now. Maker." Morrigan collects the chain, it's warm and sturdy, a fine chain, with a small detailed pattern of leaves engraved on the metal.

"You'd have me be your mule?"

"It's a gift. If you don't want it, throw it out."

Morrigan laughs softly, unsure what to do with it. "It is lovely." She bites her tongue. "I suppose I should thank you." But the words don't push past her lips, no matter how she may want them to. "So what shall it be, your tent or mine? You've never had me over. Are you hiding something?"

"What could I hide from a Witch of the Wilds?" she leans over, her lips brushing Morrigan's cheek. She feels flushed and feverish. Morrigan, so sure only moments ago that Elissa was perfectly well and free of some werewolf sickness is no longer certain. "I'm not up for company tonight."

"But are you well?" Morrigan asks. She does not know if Elissa heard her and has chosen to ignore her or if she's simply moved on, choosing to turn her affections toward the elf or the Templar, or perhaps the obnoxious bard. A troubling notion indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I haven't worked or thought about this story in ages. Thanks to Horob575 who very gently (and often) reminded me that this needed updating. However! Who knows what direction it's going in? I certainly didn't remember so here you go. It was a long wait, but hopefully you will be entertained.

* * *

They are all clustered around something in the camp. Morrigan looks over from where her tent is. The morning has arrived and she is resentfully chilly and further annoyed at the sorry Warden for not spending the night with her. Perhaps she chose to spend it with the assassin or with the grating bard. Morrigan swears that if the gangly redhead takes to more impromptu songs she will strangle the life from her with her bare hands, regardless of what Elissa thinks.

She rubs her arms but cannot find warmth in the dreary, foggy morning. What may be so interesting to gather everyone? Surely not the history of whatever elven root the bard may have espied. Morrigan wonders how dull witted this maudlin collection must be to be constantly enraptured by Leliana's silly tales.

Morrigan begins to collect her items. She may travel lightly (a life of many possessions has never been native to her) but she pays for it on cold nights. Her ire with Elissa grows again. When everything has been packed up she paces impatiently and yet sees no movement on the opposite end of camp.

Irritated, she stalks across the stretch of land that separates them. "It appears everyone has forgotten there is a Blight at work here. So yes, let us stand around and gawk. What have we now, some bird with a wing that needs mending? Or has the old woman passed at long last?"

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Morrigan but my condition is not the one in need of attention." Wynne says. She kneels by Elissa who is pale and sweating. Morrigan spots Elissa's arm, still torn open and swollen. Her lips move soundlessly. Is she stuck in some nightmare? Is it a fever that has taken her mind?

Morrigan scowls, turning her attention to the group. "How long has the Warden been in such a state and why was I not told?"

"Sorry," Alistair says, "didn't think the Witch of the Wilds would give a damn."

Leliana looks at her most curiously. "Or should I recite for you the many speeches given about love being like a cancer?"

"I do not speak of love," Morrigan snaps, annoyed at the insipid, arrogant lot of them. "Our one competent warden is down and you thought it'd be best to gather around her as if she's already been lost?" She pushes past them and raises a hand, slapping Elissa firmly across the face. Her hand comes away slick and hot. Elissa's eyes open, focus on her for an instant before going hazy again. Zevran looks amused. Was it he that did this? She should have known better than to allow the assassin into the group. "Get up. You will not leave me with these fools for company." She reaches down to wrap an arm around her shoulders before attempting to lift her.

The action is irritatingly futile. She has always thought herself strong and she is. But her arms do not have the strength that she would require of them. Luckily Sten steps forward and easily pulls Elissa to her feet. "To the river," Morrigan says, "I can attend to her there." She will need the right herbs, of course and she can only hope she has them in her satchel. She has seen fevers like this claim the lives of many chasind in the Korcari Wilds. She will not let Elissa meet the same fate.

As they drag her to the river, Morrigan's mind wanders. Why so much trouble for one warden? She isn't even the one she needs and no amount of wishing will change that. What she needs is a man. Her instructions were clear. Flemeth has always known what is best. She may be an old, wicked woman but she has always cared for her and she has never steered her wrong.

Elissa continues to mutter and Morrigan looks back to the group. Is she so off-putting that they would risk a warden just to spite her? Or are they so foolish to think that she has no value? She knew they were idiots but the confirmation brings no pleasure.

* * *

Morrigan toys with the gold chain before slipping it round her neck. She does so discreetly when no one is looking. It is a new feeling to be given something without expectation, to be given something that is more than pointless flattery. Yes, she is beautiful but so was Flemeth, the tales say. Beauty fades.

Even so it is like a luxury that was not earned. Flemeth would laugh at her. The thought makes her indignant and burn with shame. She has only ever inherited worn items or in other cases, had to make her own. Her clothing, contrary to what Leliana believes, is not an attempt to stand out from 'civilized' society. It is what she could make with the little she had. It is…strange to be around so many humans. She has never been so judged.

Animals are the superior species. They care not for politics or trivialities. They do not live their lives by the laws of some dead Maker who has turned against them again and again. Morrigan thinks that humans could stand to learn from animals, to appreciate the land as they do and the nourishment they receive. No more is necessary.

In the distance she hears the laughter of the bothersome bard and the Warden. The two sit on a grassy knoll. They lost a day of travel in Elissa's recovery but the woman has returned to her former spirits and does not appear to be shifting into any werewolf. Morrigan is pleased—she would hate for the world to be lost to the Blight.

More pleased, however, would appear to the chantry lay sister who is animatedly telling some tale, with the Warden her willing captive. What is it they speak of? And why do they look so merry? Morrigan narrows her eyes as Elissa leans forward to gingerly brush her lips against Leliana's. The bard returns the kiss.

'Tis no matter to her. In fact, the bothersome lay sister may be unintentionally helping her. It was not the plan to get attached to the Warden (and she isn't) but this world of blending in with humans is different. She is loathed to think that she may be somewhat… unaccustomed to how these matters might play out. Morrigan stands and leaves. Let them have their fun. They are not entertaining enough to witness.

* * *

Leliana's smiles, when genuine, are as striking as Morrigan's. Though there is something of an impish glint in her eyes, Elissa has noticed that when Leliana suspects no one of looking at her, she looks bereft. Elissa enjoys her stories. She never suspected Leliana for common. She still wonders what angle she's pushing, what it is that she seeks? Is it really this business of the Maker told her to join them? Is she mad? Morrigan would say so. But Morrigan says many things. _I have no designs on your independence._

Yes. She did say that. And the words stung her more than she thought they would. But Morrigan is bewitching (literally, if Alistair and Wynne are to be believed) and try as she might, she cannot rid her from her mind as if she were some dust bunny to be chased away by a broom.

They have spent the day fighting darkspawn and rabid wolves. This is the first hour of peace that they have had. Elissa, used to baths and luxuries (despite her tomboyish habits) was in a hurry to get to a nearby stream to clean up. Morrigan turned her nose up at her invitation. Her spirits were not dampened too long—Leliana was at the stream, boots removed, showing off her long and creamy legs. Elissa absently imagines running her fingers along them.

Elissa wonders if Morrigan truly despises Leliana's appearance as she says or if it's all bravado. Morrigan always seems so strong and sure. Leliana on the other hand, appears gentle and delicate. Is it true? Or does she know nothing about women outside of castle walls, outside of noble parties?

"What are you thinking about?" Leliana asks.

Elissa smiles, pulling her boots away and wiping the blood and guts from her legs as best as she can before sitting by the stream to rinse away the muck. What can she say? That she's thinking of Morrigan? That she's thinking of her? One of those would certainly go over better than the other. She wonders what it is that possessed her to kiss Leliana the other day? It was impulsive. Leliana told a lovely tale with such passion, with the attention to all the right details that Elissa couldn't help herself. It was a bad idea. She's a lay sister in the chantry! She expected a slap. Instead she got a kiss. A rather delightful one at that. Nothing feral like Morrigan. Something soft and deliberate. "I was thinking that one day I'd like to not be covered in darkspawn guts."

"Oh. Well, that's disappointing." Leliana sits beside her and smiles.

"Why are you always so interested in what I'm thinking?"

"Why not? You are one of the two Grey Wardens left. And I much prefer you to Alistair." She looks at her, eyes narrowing curiously on her. What color are her eyes? Blue or green? Elissa goes back and fourth. Do they change or is she mad? "Are you not used to being asked what is on your mind?"

Elissa contemplates. No. She can't say that she is. There's Alistair, of course, sweet and anxious to get into her knickers. Sten refuses to speak to her no matter her attempts. Wynne is conservative. Nor can Elissa think of much reason to speak to her outside of her natural talents. And Morrigan… why, she doesn't believe Morrigan takes much interest in her at all. When she does think to speak, Morrigan is inevitably disappointed. As a Cousland, her opinion never mattered quite as much as Fergus' and her mother was always happy to tell her what was expected of a noble daughter. "I'm not used to being asked by charming lay sisters," she says.

"Ah, you are a flatterer, I see."

"Is it working?"

"Of course." Leliana twirls the daggers in her hand, sinking them into the earth. What skill she has. Where does a lay sister learn to do such things? She stands and begins to remove her armor. Elissa wonders if she's forgotten that she's there. Leliana flicks her eyes to her. Elissa has been caught staring but Leliana does not seem to be bothered by it. "There is a button on my lower back. Do you mind?"

Elissa gets to her feet. Leliana is thin. Elissa trails her fingers along her skin and finds the button. She keeps her hand there. "I think you are a very wicked woman," Elissa tells her lightly. Leliana smiles, her eyes hard to read. Her profile is alluring. Elissa wonders if she was always so depraved or if the women outside of Highever are simply more interesting. Or is it, instead, the Calling that has twisted her desires and cravings? Witches and Lay Sisters. Is she trying to make her parents roll in their graves?

"I was once," Leliana says, "but I think you like it." There's a moment. "The button," she reminds her gently. Elissa undoes it and Leliana slips the leather armor down past her hips. Leliana stands in her small clothing before moving to the water. Elissa follows her movements. The stream is deeper than she anticipated. Leliana walks in until she's waist deep, cupping water in her hands and wetting her face and hair. "I wonder what it might have been like to meet you in my other life."

"In high society?" Elissa meanders closer, sitting on the bank. "I would have had to fight away the men and women to even catch a glimpse."

"Mh. Is that what you think?" She giggles lightly. Elissa studies the effect of the sun bouncing on the water, how it reflects off the water on her pale shoulders. "More likely, I would have watched you. To be good at the game, you cannot be caught. To be good at the game, you have to be invisible when it suits your purposes. For the players, it often suits our purposes."

"And what _is_ the purpose?"

"Whatever our patron wanted it to be," she arches an eyebrow playfully. Elissa slips into the water, not bothering to remove her leather armor. She'll regret it later when it clings too tightly to her and takes ages to wash away the cold. "What are you thinking now?"

"Of you."

"So you admit it. Was that so hard?" Leliana moves further away from her. Whatever this game is, Elissa supposes that Leliana was very good at it. She never knew a lay sister would be able to drive her crazy with desire. Perhaps she's still feverish from the werewolf. Perhaps she's only taken notice of Leliana at long last. Or perhaps she's only a depraved noble accustomed to getting who she wants when she wants them. Likely the last, though her face does feel a bit flush. "You know, I don't think Morrigan would like for us to be playing in a stream together."

"We aren't playing yet, are we?" She smiles. "And you know little of Morrigan. She cares little of any games we might play. She cares even less for me."

"Is that why you kissed me the other day?" Leliana lifts her head, regarding her in such a way that she feels as if she were at a ball, being judged by a scornful noble. What is it about the air to her? Sometimes she's meek and other times Elissa feels as if she has been thrust back into high society, at the mercy of a contemptuous debutante. "Were you hoping for her kiss?"

She laughs. "I've had that and more. And I'm sure I could get them again if it's what I wanted."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Leliana's eyes narrow carefully. "It is cruel to play with a woman's heart. No heart should be meant as a plaything." Once more, her eyes go distant. What memories is she recalling? What past is she running from? "Say what you will about Morrigan, I do not think she is as heartless as she pretends. She was very worried when you were ill. I thought she was going to set us all on fire for not getting her."

"She wants to do that anyway."

Leliana laughs. "Yes, I suppose that's true." Elissa catches up to her. This time Leliana does not pull away. "You are just like those nobles, you know. You want your cake and to eat it too."

"What else should I do with cake? Let it taunt me and go uneaten?" she smirks.

Leliana's laughter is softer this time and Elissa can't tell if she's nervous or merely placating her. "Nobles like you were the easiest mark when we played the game."

Elissa's hands find Leliana's hips beneath the water. She is thinner than Morrigan but not much more so. "Why?"

"Because you're used to getting what you want, when you want it. It was my job, as a minstrel, to make you believe that I was what you wanted and that you were seducing me, when in fact it was the other way around." Leliana removes Elissa's hands. "Can you imagine Morrigan at a party like that?"

Elissa tries but can't. Better yet, she can only see her standing in a corner by the appetizers, vexed and making cutting commentary of the party attendants, staff in hand, ready to assault any who may come near. She smiles thinking of it and once again her mind returns to the thieving little urchin in her carriage years ago. "She'd hate it."

"You think so? I think that's what she says but who wouldn't want to go to that world and see such beautiful things, experience such beautiful things? You and I, we know better, but she was raised in a swamp. I imagine she's jealous of the things we've had."

Elissa cocks an eyebrow. "I think Alistair was right and you really are insane." Leliana's face saddens so suddenly that Elissa feels like a shrew. "I only mean that she's smarter than that. Morrigan doesn't need anybody. In fact, if she believed she could do this on her own, I don't think she'd hesitate to dispose of all of us."

Leliana shakes her head. "I don't think you know much about a woman's heart."

"I have one, don't I?"

"Oh?" Leliana smiles. "I'll believe it when I see it. Uh—not literally, of course. Not that the Maker would allow that to happen." And here we are again with Maker talk. What would it take to make her shut up about it? Elissa smiles thinking of the pun but is wise enough to not share it with her. Leliana is awfully sensitive about the chantry, much more so than even Alistair. "You know, most people are more curious about me. They ask me about my time as a bard and the life I had before I became a lay sister."

"I take it most people you meet aren't self-absorbed nobles like me. We only like to speak of ourselves, thank you very much."

"But that's not true at all. You never speak of yourself. All I know is that you have a mabari and you're from Highever," Leliana takes her hand beneath the water, thumb stroking gently along her hand. "I heard the things you said when you were sick. I didn't catch all of it—and really, I shouldn't have listened as much as I did. You seem to me as if you are terribly sad."

Elissa swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm only a spoiled noble," she says lightly.

"All nobles are a little spoiled," Leliana touches her face. The sunlight glints off the beads of water on her skin, making her shine. "I really shouldn't indulge them. It always goes to their head."

"Are you about to regale me with another story?"

"Hm," she considers. "I was thinking about a kiss, however, if you prefer—" The words are no sooner out of her lips than Elissa claims them. Elissa can't ever say that she's ever been this much of a tart but this is different. No matter how Morrigan makes her feel as if her heart is bursting from her chest, she is simply not interested. She'd prefer whip lashings to what Morrigan's adamant refusals do to her self-esteem.

Leliana is sweet. And a bloody good kisser. Orlesian kisses really are the best. This is perfectly fine. She can have a bit of fun. And she could use a buffer. One that won't tear her heart and feelings to pieces. Why not a distraction? Why not a sweet, pretty one like this?


End file.
